Let Love In
by WitheringSage
Summary: Lancelot continues to burrow his way into Sophia's heart.


**Let Love In**

_You're the only one I ever believed in_

_The answer that could never be found_

_The moment you decided to let love in_

_Now I'm banging on the door of an angel_

_The end of fear is where we begin_

_The moment we decided to let love in_

Chronology: Tristan is 29. Lancelot is 27. Raja is 19.

"And where might you be going?"

Raja looked down, cringing at being caught by Lancelot who was sitting at the top of the stairwell, blocking her way with his long legs. A week ago, they had been ambushed by Woads in the middle of the night, she was injured, an arrow through her ankle. She suffered a high fever for four days, was too weak to raise her head for two, and now, on the seventh day, she was determined to put an end to her convalescence, despite the fact that her temperature was just below feverous, and her ankle was nowhere near completely healed.

Raja sighed. "Don't you have something better to do other than stalk me?" She had been heading to the stables to see Odin and Horus, just turning the corner to descend the stairs.

He stood up gracefully, his lithe muscles stretching. "Not stalking, monitoring."

The Egyptian woman leaned against the wall to take all pressure from her injured limb. "Why didn't you just stand outside my damned bedroom door?"

Lancelot clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "There is no need for vulgarity, cousin." He blocked her way again with a swift slide shuffle as she tried to get around him. "I think you need to go back to bed and rest."

Raja gave him her I'm-not-in-the-mood-for-your-quibbling look. "I think I want to go see Odin and Horus."

Lancelot observed his cousin carefully with a tilt of his head. Over the years she somehow managed, though not completely, to internalize the weariness her spontaneous afflictions caused her. Although this last fever had been brought about by the infection of her wound, fevers took a much stronger toll on her than most due to her already natural state of precarious health. The whites of her eyes remained a pool of milk, her darker than raven hair remained lustrous. She had lost a tad bit of weight, but not enough to cause undue concern. Before she could slap his hand away, he reached out and touched her forehead with the back of his hand.

"What is wrong with you, Lottie? You're acting worse than Tristan."

"We're not allowed to worry?"

"Well," she looked closely at his hairline, "It's going to cause premature growth of grey hair."

Lancelot's hands instantly went to his own raven curls, appalled at the idea of grey strands of hair at his age. Raja took advantage of the distraction, putting brief pressure on her hurt ankle to sidestep him. She leaned against the handrail, pausing a spell to let the roaring sensation behind her eyes abate.

"You sneaky wench!" Lancelot accused, knowing she hated to be called 'wench.'

She ignored the vagrant insult for the moment, making her way cautiously down the stairs.

"Stubborn..." the rest of his words were unintelligible mumbles. He sighed, there was no stopping her unless he tossed her over his shoulder, but he knew the consequences for such folly. When she was at her best health, she would strike back. Raja's paybacks for being unduly crossed were ingenious and fitting to the person who had quarried her wrath. Instead of opposing her, he aided her down the steps to which she voiced no objection.

It was mid-June; the bright afternoon sunlight hit them with full force when they stepped outside. Halfway to the stables, Raja was walking slower; the discomfort on her face – though the pain was probably screaming silently inside – was evident.

She raised her index finger sharply, killing the words he was going to speak before they even had a chance to fully form on his tongue. "If I knew it would be too much for me to walk to the stables, I would not be attempting it."

Lancelot smirked, still holding her by the crook of her elbow and waist. That was one of the reasons why he admired his cousin, she never felt sorry for herself or purposely made herself a burden by feigning weakness to accrue sympathy or attention which was why no one felt put upon by taking care of her. Especially sense she had always so unselfishly did things for them, expecting nothing in return.

Finally, they entered the stables, Raja a bit paler than before she had headed out. Odin, who had been trotting about aimlessly whickered excitedly, immediately rushing towards her to nuzzle her affectionately, butting Lancelot out of the way. Lancelot called the horse a name, causing Odin to raise his head, snorting gruffly at the insult. Raja leaned against the large frame of Odin as Lancelot began to attend to Adonis. They both brushed the beautiful creatures in companionable silence for a time.

"I noticed you have been looking a bit tense, Lottie," Raja voiced. "And not due to physical exertion, but rather the lack of..." she trailed off. "How is Sophia?"

"Fine, just fine," Lancelot said somewhat sarcastically. "Almost four months of courting, trying to gain her trust...Who knew courting was so..." he pursed his lips, trying to think of the correct word.

"Devoid of sex?" Raja applied.

"Yes!" he exclaimed.

She raised her eyebrows as if that were the wrong answer, and he had fallen into a trap.

He continued, "I mean I feel as if I try so much as anything overt it will ruin everything I've done these last four months."

Raja was not going to ask her cousin about his and Sophia's physical relationship, mainly because it was Sophia's business as well. But if Lancelot wanted to talk about his side of the relationship, she would listen and try to advise him as best she could if that was what he wanted.

"And the damnedest thing," he paused, obviously still befuddled over what he was about to reveal, "I don't even want to bed anyone else, despite the fact that I'm..." he gave a you-know-what-I-mean hand gesture.

Raja put away Odin's grooming brush, then carefully sat herself down on a stool. She lifted her floor length black skirt - the hem embroidered with carefully stitched Egyptian designs - to make certain that her sutured wound had not come undone. There was no blood on the cloth. She smiled, smoothing down her skirt. "I think that is good." She leaned back against the edge of the wall that separated Odin's stall from the one next to it.

"Good?" He followed Raja's suit, putting away the brush, pulling up a stool next to her.

"Well, it's not bad," she reminded him.

"But it's not _me_," he stressed. "I have been thwarting off advances from women who are immensely attractive, and very good in bed..."

"Why don't you just do as you like then?" Raja suggested casually.

He opened his mouth to speak, but kept silent, looking at her with intense scrutiny. "You're trying to get me to say something that will get me into trouble."

"Absolutely not. You just seem very conflicted. I am merely doling out options."

Not quite. Lancelot was slowly understanding what his cousin was trying to do: admit to himself that he deeply cared about Sophia, and did not want to hurt her. Sophia had bewitched him with her naturally angelic wiles. He found his mind thinking of her only minutes after speaking to her, he dreamed of the kisses they had shared over the months, gradually becoming more heated, deeply passionate. The first few times he tried to hide his apparent arousal when their bodies were pressed together, mouths locked in a sensual dance. But it was so obvious that he wanted her, so that after a time he just let his erection speak for itself, making no move to step back when his hardness was poking against her hip. Lancelot's reverie was interrupted by a deep, perturbed clearing of throat.

"Tristan!" Raja greeted. She stumbled getting up from the stool, but Lancelot caught her by the elbow, balancing her.

The scout gave Lancelot the look of death. "You are a poor excuse for a guard," he sneered.

"I don't need guards!" Raja punched Tristan in the shoulder playfully, not hard of course, they both knew her punches were ineffective.

"Well, I think I'll head out now," Lancelot backed out. "You two love-birds enjoy your impending quarrel."

Tristan's eyes burned into Lancelot's back until he was out of sight before turning his gaze on Raja, who surprised him by pinning her soft lips to his in a deep kiss. So lost was he in her touch that he almost forgot about the fact that she was ill and walking about. With all his willpower he managed to pull himself away from her affections, and restrain his arousal.

She smiled at him sweetly, her arms still wrapped around his neck.

"That won't work on me," Tristan grumbled, still feeling sparks from their kisses.

She sighed. "Fine." Raja also knew when she had to give up. Tristan was not letting her walk about any longer for the time being. They headed back to their room, Tristan carrying her up the stairs and down the winding halls. He was hard pressed to ignore the nuzzling of her nose against his neck, the soft caresses she placed on his cheek and neck with her lips. She got him right in the spot with the tip of her tongue just behind the lobe of his ear.

"Don't tempt me, woman," he growled, his full blown erection now making it difficult to walk. He pushed open the door with his foot, using it again to close it behind him. He set her down gently, but she did not relinquish her hold on his person. Gods, was she coaxing him to the peak of losing his restraint.

"Back on the bed," he cleared his throat. She sat down on the bed and he kneeled down to take off her small shoes.

"If you insist that I be on bed rest, it is only fair of you to make it worth my while," she told him coquettishly.

Tristan laughed, Raja joining in. It was just proof over the span of time that they've known each other long enough that they could act so unabashedly silly in one another's presence. It wasn't like Raja to play the seductress, she never knew how to be intentionally flirtatious, so over the years, her sexy banter became a joke between the two of them, although it still managed to greatly arouse Tristan.

"Last time you managed to lure me in after you were ill, you had a relapse and Vanora almost bit my head off."

"Pfft! You exaggerate, Trissy." She pulled him down next to her. He kicked off his boots and shed his tunic, laying down beside her. She rested her head on his shoulder, his hands stroking her silky soft skin.

Tristan snorted. "Well, you're still not getting anything."

Raja's chuckle was stifled in his chest. He was so blatantly aroused, his hardness practically stretching his breeches. Her fingers trailed down his chest, lifting the hem of his shirt to run her palms over his firm muscles, then slowly heading down into his pants, grasping his thickness, causing him to grunt.

"I think one of us ought to be moaning," she breathed in his ear, untying his breeches.

--------------------------------------------------

Lancelot had bathed and donned clean clothes. He made sure his finely shaped beard was combed, looked at himself in the mirror a moment longer and went to meet Sophia near the stables. It was late afternoon now, and the perfect time for a walk in the forest. He had been trying to get her used to Adonis. She had ridden horses when she was younger, but after a time, when she had to go to work, she no longer had time for it.

She was already in the stables, Adonis nuzzling her as she smiled and planted kisses on his muzzle. Lancelot stood behind her for a moment, just grinning at the spectacle. His heart warmed at seeing her, hearing her twinkling laughter. When he was near enough, he kissed her on the nape of her neck, causing her to squeal in surprise.

"You scared me!" But she was smiling widely, brown eyes sparkling.

Tingles went down his spine, and he could not help but take her in his arms, kissing her passionately. Their affections were halted when Adonis nudged them apart.

"I think he is eager to get outside," Sophia said, petting the dark steed.

_He's not the only one who's eager for something,_ he thought. "Or maybe he is just being a pain," Lancelot cracked.

Nevertheless, Adonis was saddled efficiently, then Lancelot helped Sophia mount, him behind her. He held her firmly around the waist as they rode through the fields, into the lush forests. The slight jolts the riding caused him did nothing to help his whetted disposition. He was certain that Sophia was feeling it against the small of her back, and when she leaned back against him, he almost ejaculated then and there. It had been too long. When they found a clearing near a refreshing creek, Lancelot dismounted as easily as his physical state allowed, then taking Sophia in his arms to help her down. He loosened Adonis's bridle to let him graze nearby.

Sophia had walked off, discarding her shoes to wade in the creek. She had needed to step away from Lancelot, to cool her skin from the heat his touching incited in her skin. The water was refreshing, rising up a little past her ankles. The breeze caressed her, like soft fingers through her hair. Sophia's heart beat uncontrollably. Would they make love out here? Now? She felt his hardness each time they kissed, she knew he was making no pains to hide it. For that she was actually grateful, otherwise she would have surely been confused as to whether he was feeling the same erotic desires she was. The intense fire she felt between her legs had surprised her, never having felt such a thing for a man. Sure, she had kissed a few men in her day, but at twenty-three, she was a virgin, and next to Lancelot she felt pathetically inadequate. All these months she had endured whispers and taunts from the other women who were jealous of the attention Lancelot had been paying her, she also knew that it was Raja's doing that the same catty talk had quieted over the past several weeks, although nothing was to be done about the leers of hell that shot forth from envious green eyes.

"Come in the water, Lancelot!" Sophia tried to kick water at him as far as it would go, which caused her skirt to rise higher up her calf.

He continued to sit on the grassy knoll, the shade blanketing him. He had simply been watching her with his fixed stare, eyes running up and down those velvety toned calf muscles. The sun caused a radiant glow as it shone on her luscious brown hair, causing the sky blue of her dress to stand out.

"Why don't you come over and sit next to me?" He patted the soft grass next to him.

She stopped wading, and looked at him with mock dismay. "Are you too old and decrepit to walk around now?"

"Old!" Lancelot exclaimed. "I am only four years your senior!" He scoffed.

She gave an exaggerated sigh, looking up as she shook her head. "As you say, Lancelot." She walked out of the creek, flicking the water off of her toes before she went to sit next to him. Before she had a chance to become fully situated, he had his head buried in her neck, holding her tightly.

"Do I have to prove to you how old I am_ not_?" he murmured against her neck. He nibbled her silky skin, slowly lowering her to the ground so he was on his side above her. Her fingers ran through his soft curls, one hand against the nape of his neck, urging him on.

They entwined themselves in a lover's embrace, tongues dancing, hearts beating with equal ferocity. His rough, large hand pulled her skirt up, tickling her skin teasingly. The higher the skirt went, the more exhilarated he became, getting closer to the warmth between her thighs. His rock-hard erection pressed against her hip, jutting forth, announcing its demands. Lancelot cupped her mound, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Sophia. He looked at her with lustful, hazy eyes, wanting to say something reassuring, but he could muster no words forth. Where was the usual articulate Lancelot when he was in this position with a woman? Almost hypnotized, the tip of his finger caught a small drop of liquid desire from between her tight curls. The look in her eyes, that expression – what was it? And just as he was about to insert a full finger inside of her, birds broke through a tree, rustling the leaves, and also breaking through his consternation.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" Lancelot stated, a lace of surprise tied around his words.

Sophia blushed furiously, sitting up as gracefully as she could, smoothing down her skirt, combing her fingers through her mussed hair. He sat up next to her, his head cocked to the side, waiting for her to answer, although he really needed no confirmation.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. "You should have told me."

"Well, I just figured you knew sense you never asked," she replied. Sophia almost laughed at the lost look on his face. "Are you surprised I am a virgin, or surprised that I am twenty-three and still a virgin?"

Lancelot let out a sputter of perplexity.

"I suppose all the women you know aren't virgins? I wonder what age is just right for a person to first have sex these days." She put her finger on her chin, feigning concentrated deliberation.

"I wouldn't know the answer to that question," Lancelot joined in on her casual demeanor, glad that she had diffused his tenseness. "I guess I shouldn't have assumed..."

"It's not a problem," she assured him.

"Why haven't you?" Lancelot could not help but ask.

Now, a joyless smile accompanied her bemused shrug. "Maybe I never got around to it," Sophia offered with half-hearted humor.

The spell had been broken for the time being, he knew there was no way either of them could return to their previous state of stimulation.

"I'm sorry, Lancelot," she said quietly. She stood up with one quick, upward movement and slipped her shoes back on.

"Wait," he rose to his feet, grabbing her wrist. "You don't have to be sorry. I didn't mean for you to think that I had a problem with your virginity."

She waved it off. "I have to get back, I don't want to be late for work."

The wistful look on her face damned near broke his heart. And he felt a tug of something inside of him that felt similar to what he felt when Raja was in one of her dark places – love. And the thought struck him with such intensity that he could not reply to Sophia. Of course it was a different sort of love, a romantic love he perhaps felt for this woman standing before him. Love? No...not love.

_Can't be,_ he thought. _There is no denying I care for this woman, but how the hell would I know what it feels like to be in love with one?_

Such were his thoughts as they rode back to the fort.

----------------------------------------------

Raja slapped Dagonet's hand away.

"It's perfectly fine, you healing fiend." She tried to jerk her leg away but Dagonet's giant hand had a firm grip on it. Raja was taught the art of healing as well, her mother was one, her mother's mother was one, etcetera. Yet, she was never allowed to tend to her open wounds herself. Not to mention, from the ankle down, she was dreadfully ticklish, and was adverse to anyone touching her feet.

Dagonet had woken Tristan and Raja from their sexual stupor, shooting Tristan a look of reprimand with a shake of his head for not being able to control himself. Raja was still flushed, or maybe her temperature had spiked, but she was still being feisty. She had put back on her black skirt and blue, sleeveless tight-fitted camisole.

"In case you hadn't noticed, your stitches came undone," the large knight lectured, once again shooting Tristan, who was sitting on the bed sharpening his sword, a hard look. The scout ignored it.

Raja leaned over and kissed Dagonet's bald head. "You know I'm just teasing you, Dag." She sat back against the chair, trying to be still as possible as Dagonet mended her injury.

"That arrow missed my bone by a hair," Raja pointed out.

"A good thing I'd wager."

Raja clenched her jaw for a mere second when Dagonet put alcohol on her wound. "I still have to mend the holes on either side of boot, too." Leave it to Raja to be thinking about the condition of her wears.

Tristan gave a half laugh, half scoff. "Women." But his eyes stroked Raja with amused affection through the mussed tendrils of hair that fell over his face.

Raja rested her head against her fist. "Just because you wouldn't mind walking around with holes in your boots, love, doesn't mean everyone does." She winked at him.

This was all said in mock jest. She wasn't really perturbed that there were holes in her boots, although she would mend them soon, she just liked to lighten the mood around Tristan so he wouldn't dwell too much on the fact that she had been injured. She tried to mask her pain as well as she could, hating to see the overly worried looks on his face. Dagonet finished the redressing of her ankle, not liking the tinge of fever on her face. Tristan had noticed it too from where he sat, wanting to smack himself for giving in to his physical wants, although he had been gentle.

"I suppose the both of you are going to insist that I eat and rest now, hmm?" she inquired dryly. "Very predictable." Raja stood up slowly from her chair with Dag's assistance. Once she was abed, Dagonet and Tristan left, the scout off to get her dinner.

They parted ways, Dagonet running into Lancelot on his way to the stables.

"Is Raja awake?" he asked.

"Yes, but her fever may be returning," Dagonet informed him. "Tristan went to get her supper. If you are heading up there, you might sit with her to make sure she does not try hobbling around the room." He gave Lancelot a brotherly pat on the back, saying their goodbyes.

Lancelot knocked lightly on Raja's partially opened door. He poked his head in to see her staring out the window, a small mouse named Pig sitting on her shoulder nibbling a piece of stale bread. She didn't notice Lancelot until he had pulled up a chair next to her, and she greeted him with a fatigued smile.

"You look sad, Lottie," she spoke softly. She sat up, situating the pillows so she could look at her cousin face to face. "Move closer." He scooted his chair up. "Now, what ails you dear cousin?

Lancelot 'hmmphed' with a half smile.

She looked at him through have-lidded eyes, her long lashes making it difficult to see her silver irises. "You found out that Sophia is a virgin."

"How the hell do you do that?" Lancelot asked with a stupefied wobbling of his head.

She shrugged lazily.

"And how did you know that she is a virgin?"

"You know, living here for as long as I have, being around prostitutes, you began to see subtle differences between women who have or have not yet lost their virginity." She raised her shoulders again. "At least I have, anyway. Besides, I surmised, because of the way she had been treated by the men in her life that she would be hesitant to lay with a man."

"Why would she be hesitant?" Lancelot said with a twinge of frustration. "It is not that big of a deal. It's unnecessary pressure."

She cocked her head to the side, dubiousness ticking between her brows.

"Do all women expect sparks and fireworks? I have lain with women who have no such cares about the importance of sex."

"Hmm," she mused, biting her lower lip. "I always thought, that perhaps women do not really expect 'sparks and fireworks' when they first have sex. Well, maybe the naïve ones do, but others, maybe the older women who've yet to lay with a man, are just worried about feeling used. You now what it's like to be used."

Lancelot ran a hand down his face, glancing out the window at the setting sun. "I don't think that's the same."

"All right. There is a disparity between being used for sex and being used for warfare. I am hard pressed to articulate the difference though." Pig scampered down from her shoulder, into her open hands so she should pet him.

She paused for a moment, finding the right words to begin with. "Sophia, as far as I know, has never been treated with affection by a man before, and knows what it is like to be abused, she is groped by men in the tavern, touching her body as if they own it, or have a right to it, when all she is trying to do is her job, to earn money that she needs for food and clothing. The skin, the body that they touch, that is the skin she has to wake up in every morning. The body she has to live in for the rest of her life. With every hand that reaches out to her, every word that is spit at her, it takes pieces of a person's self-worth. So, why, you wonder, is she so hesitant to literally hand over her body to someone who might take from her, and give nothing in return." Raja stopped, gauging Lancelot's reaction to her words. She could see by his expression that he was still not fully understanding, even though he was making an effort to try.

Lancelot took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "What about the women who have been...taken advantage of and do not..." He pressed his lips together, at a loss for properly phrasing the rest of his question.

"I wish I could answer that question. I wonder myself. When I was younger, I used to envy those women. The women who seemed so comfortable and confident with themselves, able to just simply enjoy the company of men. Then, when I was thirteen, I was walking to my room from the stables, it was almost dark, and when I passed the tool shed, I heard a man and woman fumbling around. She wanted him to go slowly because she was sore, but he said that it was his coin and he'd do as he wanted. I thought she would fight back, but all she did was sigh in resignation.

Hardly minutes later, they were done, the man walking away without even noticing me. I was worried about the woman, and I felt guilty for having just stood there listening, but when she walked out from behind the tool shed, she didn't seem the slightest bit put off at my presence when I approached her. I asked her if she was okay, and she said, of course dear, I'm fine. I asked her if he had hurt her, and she looked at me with a tilt of her head, saying that it was a bit uncomfortable, but that was life and she expected nothing more. I probably should have felt sorry for her, but I did not. I was just surprised, that was it – surprised."

"Why?"

Raja exhaled. "I had no idea that a person could be so apathetic about being used by another human being. It just never occurred to me. I..." Raja cleared her throat, momentarily thinking of her own experience at being violated.

"Well, she was a whore, wasn't she? Of course she would not expect anything else."

Raja blinked, as if trying to gain some clarity to his words. "I still don't think you understand what I'm saying."

He groaned in exasperation at his failed attempt to take in the meaning of her words. He knew she was saying something, something important, but what did the treatment of whores have to do with it? The two of them sat in silence for a while, the silent echo of her words whispering around the room.

"You do know," she stressed, "what it feels like for a person to have control over you. And I take back what I said before, being used for warfare or sex, is the same thing. Either way you are being stripped of your inherent ability to choose."

"That has nothing to do with sex," Lancelot insisted.

"It's not about sex, Lancelot." She resisted the urge to lean forward towards his face, but she remained still to hide any hint of impatience. "That is what I am trying to say to you. I talk about the body, but what is important is what you are left with afterwards. The only thing that a person cannot control is your feelings. Twenty years from now, thirty, forty, is irrelevant, you may not remember the words people have said, or faces, names, but you will always remember how things feel. You are always left with a shred of the emotions you have experienced in your life. So, what I am trying to get across is that if she were to lay with you, years from now, she might not remember your face clearly, what she was wearing, what you were wearing, what was spoken, but she will remember everything she felt during that time. Good, bad, she will remember. Emotions are powerful.

You should know. You do not recall what your siblings look like, you do not remember what you were wearing, what they were wearing, the last words that were spoken before you departed. But I know you remember how it felt to look at them one last time, knowing that you would most likely never see them again. You remember how painful it was to turn your head and look away, riding off, the agonizing insistence of your heart that you take one last glance. The loneliness you felt on that boat, the burning of your tears, the gut wrenching-"

"Stop," Lancelot snapped. Then softer, "Just stop." She was right though. He could not see the faces of his siblings clearly anymore, but he did remember the sadness, the pain. The Romans took him from his home, the lands he could conjure up quickly, and what he felt when he was able to roam about freely. He understood now. And it hurt. Her words had pummeled him senseless.

The creak of the door sounded, announcing Tristan's arrival. He held two plates of food in each hand. Lancelot stood, the enormity of all he had just taken in weighing down on him, settling, sinking into his roots leaving a cool feeling of lightness above. He kissed Raja goodbye, his feet leading him towards the tavern.

Tristan set the plates on the table, seeing Raja's flushed face, hearing her shortness of breath. She flung the covers back, not able to restrain herself from falling into Tristan's protective arms, burying her face in his chest. He was slightly taken aback at the sudden intensity of her behavior, but it instantly relaxed into warmth, holding her in his arms.

"Is something wrong?" he asked her, concerned.

Raja lifted her head. "Not anymore."

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The raucous sounds outside of the tavern sounded louder tonight, more unpleasant, especially after sitting with his cousin in such an undisturbed setting. The evening was cool, patrons gambled on dice, sloshed ale covered the tables. His eyes ran over every speck of the area until they landed on Sophia, and the need to touch her had never been so great.

Lancelot walked to her and pulled her to the side. He held her hand within his, his other arm on the small of her back, pressing her close. He leaned his head down to hers, their noses almost touching. "After you are finished working, I just want to be with you tonight. Hold you." The words were uttered so fluently, yet his heart was pounding erratically, he hoped she would not take his statement as a come on, for he meant it so sincerely. He pressed her hand to his chest, anxiously waiting for her reply.

"Soon," she said to him, her eyes softly looking into his.

It was painful to let her go, but he sat at a table which his fellow knights occupied, joining them for a cup of ale. Galahad was at the table next to them, playing a game of dice with a Roman soldier.

A buxom woman blocked his sight, sitting promptly on his lap. Without the slightest hesitation he lifted her off. "Someone has taken me for the rest of my nights," he told her. "You best find another man to warm your bed." He turned away, not the least bit concerned with her reaction. He smiled when he saw Sophia approach him, finished working her shift.

After that, everything was a blur. The dark knight did not even know how it had started.

"You filthy Sarmatian scum," the Roman soldier yelled. He swiped a jug of ale and cups off of the table. "You cheated!"

Galahad stood up, knocking his chair to the ground. "I never cheat, you Roman piece of shit!"

Fists flew. Gawain held Galahad back, but the young knight broke his hold, lunging at the Roman. When the Roman yelled more obscenities about Sarmatians, Lancelot's fist swung out, catching the man in the nose, feeling cartilage break beneath his fist. He roared in pain, Galahad pointed and laughed in his semi-drunken stupor. Lancelot's mind went back to Sophia, seeing her head towards him. What he did not see was the injured Roman pull out a knife, rushing towards him.

"Lancelot!" Sophia cried. She tried to push him out of the way, but all she felt was a cold blade through her back. Her fingers clenched Lancelot's tunic.

Nothing existed outside of that moment, all was a hazy blur of noises around him. His face was a picture of horror, seeing Sophia's life's blood pouring through a ghastly wound. His hands were covered with crimson.

"Sophia! Stay awake!" he told her. Vaguely, he saw Dagonet kneel down next to her. "Stay awake!"

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TWO WEEKS LATER

"He hasn't eaten today," Raja said to Tristan.

It was past midnight, and she damned herself for sleeping through the evening. Her high temperature continued to plague her, and she had fainted more than once in the past couple of weeks. Despite that, she spent time with Lancelot as much as she could as he sat next to an unconscious Sophia.

Tristan sighed. "You need to sleep yourself, Raja."

"You should have woken me up."

"The first time you have slept that soundly in days, and I should have woken you?"

Raja held a plate of food in her hands, ready to sit in Lancelot's room with him. She was groggy, and pangs of exhaustion were knotted in her head.

"I'll take it to him," Tristan said.

"No, I have to sit with him and make sure he eats it. He'll get sick if he keeps this up."

"You'll get sick if you keep this up," he snapped. He took the plate from her hands, sorry for having been short with her. "I just want you to think about your own health for now, all right? Sleep, please."

She rubbed her eyes, acquiescing reluctantly. "You'll sit with him and make sure he eats as much as he can?"

"I'll shove it down his throat," Tristan promised.

Tristan left her in the dim room, hoping she would fall back into her deep slumber. Her deep concern for the people she loved could be a blessing and a curse. She would neglect her own health to see to another's.

He entered Lancelot's room without knocking. The dark knight had insisted that Sophia be brought to his room to stay so he could be closer to her, Dagonet as well. He sat with her continually, clasping her hand, his eyes rarely leaving her wan face. She had bled profusely, her fevers a raging inferno, and she had yet to wake up. Tristan took in Lancelot's horrible appearance. He rarely saw him so unkempt, his hair unwashed, clothes disheveled, his beard turning into a grizzly mass of hair.

Tristan put the plate of food on the small table next to the bed, then sat down on the other side of the room, casually slicing bits off of an apple he had procured from his pocket.

"Raja wants you to eat," Tristan stated simply.

Lancelot said nothing in return. Minutes went by, only the crackling of the fire filled the room.

"I do not know how the hell you haven't gone insane," Lancelot's voice croaked from lack of water.

Through the long locks that covered Tristan's face, he raised his eyebrows. "You're not making sense," Tristan said between a bite of his apple.

He raised his head, brown eyes shooting at Tristan. "If what I feel sitting here is even a fraction of what you go through every time Raja is sick, I do not know how you haven't gone insane." He returned his vigil back to Sophia.

Tristan pondered his words. Gods know he couldn't recall a time when he had had an in depth conversation with Lancelot, and if they ever did share such words, it was over Raja. He looked back and forth between Lancelot and Sophia. He felt a twinge of sympathy from deep, very deep down, inside of him for Lancelot. As long as he had known him he had treated women as expendable, but then again, before he had met Raja, had he not done the same? Oddly, he knew the feelings that must be coursing through Lancelot right now. The same things he felt every time Raja had fallen ill, near death at times, in the eleven years he had known her: fear. How many times had his brothers urged him to eat when he was too worried over Raja to take even a bite of food, or change his clothes?

Lancelot had still not touched his food. "I can't leave this room," Tristan broke the silence, "until you eat your food."

Lancelot hung his head, and after a few minutes began to chew on the tasteless bread and meat. Finally – thank the gods – he had finished most if not all of it.

Tristan got up, and said one last thing to Lancelot, "You smell horrible, too. You should do something about that." He might have caught a very faint hint of a smile on Lancelot's face before he left.

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He awoke to the weak movement of her hand against his. She mumbled, and his eyes shot up, head snapping up thinking that her sounds might be a dream.

Sophia looked at him through a fog of confusion, the pieces of why she felt an aching in her body coming back to her in flashes. She tried to speak, but her lips and throat were too dry. Lancelot hurriedly poured her a cup of water, raising her head as gently as he could so she could sip.

After a moment, she spoke, "What," she cleared her throat, "am I doing here?"

"I had you moved into my room, so Dagonet and Raja could be close by in case something happened," Lancelot informed her, his heart leaping in relief. "Although, I admit, this is not the scenario I had in mind if you were to lay in my bed."

Sophia smiled weakly. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A little over two weeks. Your wound wasn't as deep as we thought it was at first, but you did bleed a lot, you had a fever for days that kept coming back." He brought her hand to his cheek, and her fingers lightly stroked his stubbled face. It's funny how it takes someone to have to be near death for you to realize...

"I love you," Lancelot whispered, his voice hot on her hand. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the tears, then he looked at her, her almond eyes staring at him with what he hoped was love, too. "You know that, don't you?"

"I do now," she replied. "I love you, too, Lancelot."

He had to kiss her, press his lips on hers, drink her in.

Damn the gods, he could have wept for this feeling he had not felt in ages. Contentment.

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Tristan couldn't fall asleep. His own contentment and love was keeping him from closing his eyes that were locked on Raja's peaceful face. She was cuddled against him, hand over his heart, one leg over his. Pig sleeping on the pillow next to them.

"I love you," he said in the night.

_There's nothing we can do about_

_The things we have to do without_

_The only way to feel again_

_Is let love in_

_-Goo Goo Dolls _

3/15/07


End file.
